


No Exit

by alernun



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, EriksManPain, Mind Games, Multi, Past Drug Use, Smut, Voyeurism, spiteful!Charles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 08:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1892952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alernun/pseuds/alernun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How many?” </p><p>Charles arched his back, and pawed at the engorged cock asserting itself against his feelingless thigh. </p><p>“How many what?”</p><p>“How many lovers since I've been away?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Exit

**A July Heat Wave, 1974  
** The Xavier Mansion  
Victorian Suite 

The locusts bore witness in loud protest through the open French doors as Magneto, panting and frantic, rut his sweat slicked body against Charles, pulling at the smaller man's hair. 

“How many?” 

Charles arched his back, and pawed at the engorged cock asserting itself against his feelingless thigh. 

“How many what?” he gasped, hand moving roughly up and down Magneto's exposed member, the metalkinetic having only half-removed his ridiculously unseasonable body armor to liberate it, the rest of him still covered, unreachable...

“How many lovers since I've been away?”

The telepath hummed his understanding into the crook of Magneto's neck. The hand slowed. For a moment, he thought this would be an unfortunate stop gap in their mad interlude, and did not relish the idea of ruining a twice, perhaps three times yearly triste with the Pandora's Box of their three act drama. But a quick, instinctual brush against the other mutant's mind revealed no sulking and only his baseline level of anger. No...the emotion that read strongest was arousal, mixed with curiosity and some rather filthy conjecture. 

“My God,” Charles rasped, thumb sliding to streak dripping pre-cum over Magneto's head. He paused, mesmerized, as the other mutant pushed his leggings over the firm hill of his ass, freeing more of himself for Charles. “Do you...would you like to see, Erik? Would you like to see what I've been doing?”

Erik let out a deep, rattling groan, and nodded into Charles's shoulder, not quite able to meet his eyes. 

_/Yes-Charles-powerful-beautiful-want to watch-want to see-freedom-were you thinking of me?/_

Charles released Erik's cock and entwined his arms around the larger man, one hand coming up to his own temple while the other caressed the side locks of the metalkinetic's emerging salt-and-pepper.

And then Charles pushed forward into Erik's consciousness. 

\---They were there and not; silent observers, mingled and one in the memory-scape. Charles took a moment to congratulate himself on the architecture; he had always been a stickler for details, and his memory, it seemed, was no different. Everything was how it had been that sad day back in '65, down to the fine coat of dust on every surface, and the red rims around Charles's eyes. 

“Hank...” said his former self, and he remembered the hazy pain, the serum-induced lethargy, the ache in his heart, in his back, in his head, and the way that Beast had been so sure he could soothe it all. “I'm not one of your bloody lab rats.”

Beast ran a nervous hand through his hair and fell to his knees in front of Charles's armchair, oversized lab coat skimming the floor. He shook, just a bit, from nervousness and the audacity of his former proposal, from a desperation to comfort his mentor (and himself). 

“I know that, Charles.” he said, quiet even for him, and when he reached for the button of the telepath's tweed trousers, Charles didn't stop him. Just watched with a mild interest outweighed by...by....

_/Hopelessness./_

_/This is how I made you feel?/_

A vein of regret corrupted the heat. Bitterness spiced their strange mix of closeness and sex. Charles liked it. Charles wanted more. The more Erik knew, the more they were one. The more he possessed, as well as gave. 

Hank's mouth had been hesitant and warm around him. Tender where Erik had been hard, Slow where Erik had been fast, teeth grazing where Erik's never faltered. Charles had squeezed his eyes shut and thrust into his mouth, trying for the illusion of another man, a matchless man and failing, coming mechanically without so much as a warning to the young scientist below him. 

They parted without a word, the proof of the experiment's failure evident on both their faces. The next morning, they ate together as they always did, and pretended nothing happened. 

\---The scene shifted. Not the mansion anymore, but a basement lit with red and purple mood lamps. Charles could barely think. He was high-on cocaine this time, rather than serum, and the bass pouring out of invisible speakers tore his very chest apart. His messenger bag cut into his collarbone. It was filled, the telepath recalled, with notes from the conference he'd attended on genetic potential. Berlin. This was Berlin, and this was a brothel, and the woman on top of him, all hard angles and steely gray eyes, a flat chest, and thick brown hair that framed her severe face to the shoulders, was a prostitute. 

“Was willst du?” She had asked him. 

“Alles.” 

/Charles...she...she looks.../

The thought faded to the back of their oneness. It didn't have to be said. This time, Charles pushed a little deeper, tangled them in the memory so that they were both Charles and Erik, past-Charles and the call girl, fucking and being fucked, an endless feedback loop of emotion and sensation. 

_/You're rough with her./_

_/I'm rough with you./_

The part that was Charles snapped in response, and past-Charles grunted as the call girl's eyes fluttered shut and she rode his hips, matching his demanding rhythm, and very professionally pretended not to hear his choked “Erik...” while she faked her own satisfaction. 

-A studio apartment. Light fills the cheery modern space, and there's an orange cat licking spilled milk off the counter. Charles had spilled it. Past-Charles, except this past-Charles has almost the same lines on his face as Magneto's Charles. Past-yet-present Charles is balancing himself on this counter and grinning into a slow, unhurried kiss, tempura sushi in his right hand and the other man's hand in his left, fingers laced and caressing. 

_/When.../_

A hint of panic this time. A stab of jealousy. More than a little fear beneath it all. 

_/Last Saturday./_

_/Stop. I don't want to see anymore./_

_/No./_

Charles surprised himself. (It is he who begins the three act drama after all, and not his be-cloaked old friend). He'd been doing that a lot lately. Last Saturday, he was surprised at the aching need in his cock when Daniel closed the distance between them. He was baffled by the clenching in his chest and the lump in his throat as the other man made love to him, clumsy and earnest, on the ridiculous water bed that had become the fashion. 

_/Who is he?/_ It is small, and broken. 

_/One of the 8th grade fathers. He can speak to animals./_

They watched as Charles fell into a languid nap in the other man's arms, spent and satisfied. When it faded away, Magneto was staring at him, wetness in his eyes, temples bulging with repressed shouts, cock half-flaccid between them. 

“Why did you show me that?” 

A beat. Charles's expression might as well have been written in stone. The locusts scrambled outside and Magneto's weight suffocated him. Finally... “I don't know.” 

“I'll kill him.” Snarled the metalkinetic, every muscle tensed for action, all his aspirations impotent. 

“You will do no such thing.” Charles said softly. 

Magneto shifted to the side, but kept the telepath caged under his arm. In profile, with his houndish frown in his body armor, he looked like a discarded action figure. “He wouldn't want you if he knew. About this. About us.”

Charles let out a long sigh, and levered himself up on his elbow, staring above Erik's chest and out the window, towards the locusts, towards town, away, beyond. “No. I suspect he wouldn't.” 

After a few more minutes of silence, when all passion had been forgotten, Erik made a strange sound in the back of his throat and turned into the pillows. 

Charles pretended not to see the tears falling at the edge of his vision, and lay back down, twining himself around the larger man, headless of the sticky discomfort, pushing so that there was no space between them. 

“Oh Erik...”

“I love you, Charles.”

“I know you do, Darling. But it's...”

He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, heart raw and mind hazy, breath coming slow (but not as slow as his remorse). He thought of Daniel and his easy smile, his veterinary practice and the cat and the parent-teacher meetings, the community theater group and the circle of welcoming humans who had amiably interviewed him at the local pub last week on behalf of their dear friend. He thought of the semi-normal life he could have and knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he'd give it all up, watch it burn to ashes under the firebrand of his betrayal, for the man quietly crying in his arms. 

_/I hate you._

_I'm lost._

_Shattered._

_Done-for._

_Ruined._

_Yours./_

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> German translation: "What do you want?"  
> "Everything." 
> 
> This was supposed to be some PWP but the boys were in a morose mood tonight. Please let me know if this worked. : )


End file.
